Tag Archives: streetfighter

Six days it took us, six days to travel over 2400 miles and to the far side of Arizona.

Six days of course is not counting any time used to prep for the trip, in this case making sure we replaced our tires. Mine because I had a tire that had carried me to Montana and back (and was the appropriate hardness to do so), and Joe’s because his previous attempt to ride this particular tire had ended with him growing a large hematoma on his buttocks. We took full advantage of a friend, Blaise, raiding his garage in the middle of what could have been for him a pleasant date, and commandeering his tire machine.

Oh well; better forgiveness than permission… and better surprise than dread. In retrospect it was well worth it, as neither my or Joe’s ham-fisted-throttle-happy-asses were tossed high and to the butchers.

The first leg was set at a 16 hour drive, which was quickly adjusted to 16:45 because we forgot Joe’s wheel at my house at the first attempt. The essentials of course were coffee for myself. A good strong kind with an exotic name like Kama Sutra or something of the sort. And for Joe, can upon can of Redbull.

The sun is out, and the thaw has begun. Its time to dust off your leathers, question the condition of the tires that sat all winter, change your oil, and for some…time to put their engines together again, and back in the frame.

I myself have plans. Big plans. For most of those that know me know that I have not had proper fairings on my motorcycle for a long long time. Not since I had discovered the joy… the ecstasy of riding a superbike with motocross handlebars (THANKS JOE!). Fun is as fun does, and fun got in the way of fairings; wouldn’t let me turn the bars all the way.

This is all changing this season. The bike—my bike—that silly little R1 that I have decided is too much hooligan for the street, is getting new-used custom painted fairings.

Damn, just a few days ago I swear it was sunny outside, but no longer. My hills and twisty roads have transformed from something beautiful and fun to something terrifying, dark and full of high-side. Every turn to me screams all of a sudden “No! Don’t do it! I’ll make your life horrible”. So what else is a man to do but turn in, hide the bike under a cover, or inside a garage and wait for better days? Well, of course that all does seem rather silly, especially because supermoto exists, but still, the weather puts a bit of a damper on riding.